


Concierge Service

by astolat



Series: POI works [11]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: 2x15-Booked Solid, Crack, F/M, M/M, Multi, PWP, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 16:13:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was pretty sure he'd gone wrong somewhere along the way here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concierge Service

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授翻】【POI】Concierge Service](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8225390) by [HailTheTranslationParty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HailTheTranslationParty/pseuds/HailTheTranslationParty)



> With many thanks to lim and Ces! Inspired by [a bit of tumblr meta about Booked Solid](http://astolat.tumblr.com/post/43130066502/penemuel-in-my-interpretation-of-canon-unless).

John was pretty sure he'd gone wrong somewhere along the way here. The problem was he didn't know where, and even if he'd known that, he had no idea how to backtrack and fix it. He was off the clock, in an all-expenses-paid penthouse suite, with a beautiful woman, who was probably willing to have sex with him, and he was — losing a lot of money at poker.

He stared at his hand. Two aces. "Fold," he said, and tossed them in face-down.

"You're having a bad run, John," Zoe said. There was a hard glitter in her eyes as she swept up the cards and started to shuffle. "Too bad."

"Yeah," John said, with a sigh. He was pretty sure winning Zoe's money wasn't the answer. Although losing didn't seem to be helping either, and at this rate, he was going to have to hit Finch up for an advance to cover this week's Fresh Direct grocery order.

Around four in the morning, with John's watch topping the pile in front of her, Zoe yawned elaborately and said, "Well, that was fun, but a girl needs her beauty sleep."

"I'll — let myself out?" John said, with a very faint hope. Maybe now...?

She smiled, thin and mirthlessly. "Why don't you do that."

#

He slunk out and stood on the oh-dark-hundred street under the hotel's front entrance and rubbed his face with both hands. He could have gone home, but by the time he got there, it would be time to turn right around. He went by one of the all-night delis instead and picked up egg sandwiches before heading to the library.

Bear yipped distantly in greeting as John opened the front door, and as he climbed the stairs, Harold looked around from his computers. "I wasn't expecting you this morning, Mr. Reese," he said, with a faint amused smile. "Was Ms. Morgan called away?"

"No, she'd just finished cleaning me out," John said, dropping a sandwich on Finch's desk. He stifled a yawn as he slumped down onto the couch to unwrap his own. Then he noticed Finch was eyeing him with a frown, looking him up and down — John looked down: his suit looked okay, his shirt wasn't even particularly wrinkled —

Right. Because he hadn't taken it off. He sighed and looked away. "Do we have a new number?"

"No," Harold said. "John, have I misunderstood the nature of your interest in Ms. Morgan?"

"Sometimes these things just don't work out," John said, a little defensively.

"If you'll forgive my saying so," Harold said, "when they don't work out, the two willing parties generally haven't spent the night alone in a hotel room together. I'm assuming it's not a physical issue, as you don't seem to have gotten to that stage — "

"No," John said, glumly. He was reasonably sure the physical wasn't going to be a problem. Scratch that; he was _positive_.

"You did try _asking_ her?"

"Yes," John said. "It was my key, Harold, I asked her to come up—"

Harold interrupted. "To have sex with you," he clarified.

"I thought it was implied?" John said.

"And yet here you are," Harold said.

"Yeah," John said, even more glumly.

Harold nodded and reached for his phone. John watched him, half-wary and half-hopeful. It seemed vaguely wrong to need someone to arrange your sex life, but — it was Harold, after all.

"Hello, Harold," Zoe's voice came over the line, clear and awake and cold. "If you're looking for John — "

"No, Ms. Morgan, John is here," Harold said. "I hope you'll forgive my intruding; it came to my attention that John might have had some — difficulty, in expressing himself quite clearly, last night."

She was silent. John winced a little. Then she said, "Oh, do go on."

"I'm sure you can appreciate," Harold said, "that sometimes habit can be virtually impossible to overcome; I wonder if you might reconsider the situation as one in which John was — shall we say — waiting for orders."

"Well," she said after a moment, "that _does_ put a different spin on the situation, Harold, thank you." John sat up, wondering if maybe that would really work—

"Should I perhaps send him back?" Harold said. He had another window open on his screen and was typing rapidly. "I've already extended the suite reservation, so there's no need to hurry to check out."

Zoe didn't say anything for a moment. "You know, Harold," she said, in thoughtful tones, "that isn't a terrible idea, except for just one thing."

Harold paused. "Yes?" John leaned in anxiously.

"Since John seems to need an assist," she said, "I think you should come too."

Harold and John stared at the phone together. Harold blinked.

"I'll be here!" Zoe said. "Come by anytime. Together." She hung up.

"Well, that was unexpected," Harold said. He looked at John consideringly. John tried not to look pleading. It didn't seem fair; there was above and beyond, but this was beyond beyond. On the other hand — well, sex with Zoe was on the other hand. He looked pleadingly.

"Hm." Harold tapped open his calendar on the computer: seventeen different lines of color, one for each identity. He nodded. "I can reschedule Wren's breakfast meeting and send my lawyers to the hearing for Virtanen creditors — " He was typing as he spoke, appointment boxes jumping out of the day one after another. "All right," he said, closing it again. "Why don't we go?"

John got their coats.

#

Harold insisted on making a bunch of stops along the way. The drug store made sense, but after that there was a florist shop, where it turned out an arrangement he'd called for was already waiting, a small elegant bouquet in vivid pinks and reds and a spray of tiny orange roses, in a pocket-sized vase packed in a box full of soft green moss. Then he stopped in at Scully & Scully for three champagne flutes, had them packed in a separate jewelry box he picked out, and finally spent fifteen minutes discussing champagne options with the hotel's sommelier.

John, holding the boxes, plaintively asked, "Should we really be keeping her waiting?"

Harold looked at him over his shoulder with a touch of mild censoriousness. "Mr. Reese, the time for haste was _last night_."

Zoe opened the door with a raised eyebrow and a hand on her hip, cool and armored; she softened a little over the flowers, which Harold handed to her. "Aren't you sweet," she said — a little dry, but she turned into the room and let them follow her inside. She set the flowers down on the dinner table, and turned to face them again; Harold had already taken the jewelry box from John, and as he set it on the table he said, "John, why don't you open the champagne?" and smiling presented her with one of the flutes.

Zoe's mouth was already curving into a half-unwilling smile, answering Harold's. John filled the glasses; and after they'd toasted with a sip, Harold reached out gently, took the glass from Zoe's hand, and set it down with his own on the table. He slipped a hand around her waist, and drew her in for a soft, deep kiss.

Zoe moved with him deliberately at first, looking half-amused, but as the kiss went on, she relaxed against him, tension sliding away; when he broke it off, she licked her lips, breathing a little quick, color in her face. "Why, Harold," she said, hands resting on his chest, her voice was a little low and husky.

Harold gave her a quick pleased smile, then turned to John and held out his hand.

John put his glass down and went to him; Harold came around behind him and reached over John's shoulders to draw off his jacket. Zoe stepped up to him and started unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm sorry," he told her.

She flicked an eyebrow at him. "You're lucky you're pretty, John," she told him, but at least she sounded more amused than annoyed. She glanced over at Harold, who was hanging John's jacket and his own over the back of a chair. "And for other things too."

"Yes," John agreed, wholeheartedly.

She unbuckled his belt and pulled it loose. John was trying to decide where to put his hands first when Harold came back; his hand settled warm in the small of John's back. Harold leaned in and kissed Zoe again, and when he released her his thumb pressed gently forward; John gratefully took the suggestion and bent to kiss her as well: her mouth sweet and tasting of champagne.

"Why don't we move to the bed?" Harold suggested.

"Why don't we?" Zoe said, a little breathlessly.

And all of a sudden, it was as easy as that. The king-size bed was more than big enough for three. They left the rest of their clothes at the bedside. Harold smiled at John and went around the other side of the bed from Zoe, leaving her in the middle; John climbed in next to her and kissed her some more, cupping one warm full breast in his hand, stroking over the nipple with his thumb.

Zoe stretched out, smiling, heavy-lidded, and let them work on her; she ran her fingers through John's hair as he kissed her, and then she shuddered and sighed into his mouth. John lifted his head; Harold was slowly and deliberately stroking his thumb over her clit, his fingers between her thighs. "Oh, God," Zoe said, head tipping back, eyes closing. "Oh, _God_."

John watched Harold's hand working on her, half mesmerized; he was achingly hard. Her hips were jerking slightly, lifting a little to meet Harold's touch. "John," Harold said softly, and John looked at him; Harold smiled at him. "Would you like to taste her?"

John shut his eyes a moment and breathed deep; then he slid down the bed and put his mouth between Zoe's beautiful lush thighs, licked over Harold's fingers and into her. She was already wet, and she shuddered at the touch of his tongue.

"Here," Harold murmured, "and here." John followed his fingers blindly, nuzzled and licked and kissed, panting feverishly. She was getting even wetter, writhing against them both, and then she gripped a hand into John's hair tight and shoved his head down hard against her. He groaned and rubbed his tongue over her hard and fast; his mouth was filled with her; he thrust his tongue into her while she cried out, clenching, shuddering.

She went limp after, her whole body relaxing deep into the mattress. John lifted his head away and wiped his mouth, panting. He felt heavy with lust, drunk with it, like a sweet weight deep in his stomach. Harold was kissing her wrist gently, the inside of her elbow; he bent his head to her breast and drew the soft dark red nipple into his mouth; she moaned again and said breathless, "Okay. God. Okay. Give me a minute here."

"Are you sure you want one?" Harold said, thoughtfully. He stroked his knuckles gently down between her thighs.

She made a small noise, almost a whimper. "Oh — oh, hell." She panted a few times, and then she rubbed her hips against Harold's hand once, and shuddered all over again. "God," she said. "All right."

Harold smiled softly and said, "John, come here."

John crawled up the bed and lifted Zoe's legs over his thighs. Harold slid the condom on him, gently rolling it back and forth over the head before he pushed it all the way down. John groaned and pushed into Harold's hands, Harold's amazing, deft, slick hands; the lubricant was warming against his skin. He shuddered and dropped his head, panting; God, it had been too long.

"Now then," Harold said, and John followed, let Harold slide him between Zoe's thighs and aim him in. She laughed breathlessly in approval and wrapped her long legs around his hips, urging him on, and John picked the pace up fast. Oh, _yes_ , this, when he could let his body speak for him, decisions made, nothing left to figure out but pure blissful action, taking and giving pleasure.

He scooped Zoe up with an arm and raised her into his lap without slipping free, fucking her with fast strokes, thrusting up from his knees. She was gripping his shoulders, hard, fingers digging in, gasping. "Oh," she said. " _Oh_. John. _John —_ " Her voice was rising. She flung her head back and rocked on him, wildly, shaking apart, and Harold was watching them, watching _him_ , watching him work, stretched out and pleased and approving, and John came and came and came.

He let Zoe back down carefully afterwards, his arms trembling a little, and managed to get the condom off without a mess. He got up to toss it, and came back to the bed: Zoe had nestled her head against Harold's shoulder and was drowsily stroking him, hand wrapped lightly around his cock, but she looked like she was already half asleep.

"Let me," John murmured, and Harold said, "Why, thank you, John," and his hand was warm, stroking through John's hair, while John slowly and lavishly sucked his cock.

  

**Author's Note:**

> All feedback loved! Here or on [livejournal](http://astolat.livejournal.com) or [tumblr](http://astolat.tumblr.com)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Joint Venture](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2193852) by [offkilter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/offkilter/pseuds/offkilter)




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